


Most Likely To

by Lady_in_Red



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, School Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-05 13:55:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3122678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_in_Red/pseuds/Lady_in_Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brienne's favorite day of high school was the last one, yet somehow here she is at her 10 year reunion. She blames Jaime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beauty

“This is definitely the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

Jaime held the door open as Brienne hesitated on the threshold. “Are you kidding? This isn’t even in my top ten.” He winked and grabbed her hand, tugging her into the ballroom with him. “Come on, we’ve got this.”

Jaime looked perfect, tall and lean in his tailored suit, an absolutely devastating hint of a smile on his lips. Brienne, on the other hand, looked like a drag queen, and refused to believe otherwise no matter how many times Jaime insisted she didn’t.

The ballroom of the Rose and Crown Hotel was decorated with bouquets of gold and green balloons and shiny confetti strewn on the tables. If not for the open bar and the immense banner reading “Welcome Back, Bitterbridge Class of 2004,” it would have looked exactly like the yearbook photos of the prom. 

That thrice-damned yearbook was the only reason Brienne was here at all. 

Brienne and Jaime had stopped by her apartment one night on their way to meet up with their work team, to celebrate the successful conclusion of the project they’d been working on for more than a year. Thanks to them, Westerosi soldiers on a peacekeeping mission in the cities of Slaver’s Bay would soon have better non-lethal projectile options, which were desperately needed.

While Brienne had changed clothes in her bedroom, Jaime had noticed her reunion invitation and yearbook on the coffee table. By the time she’d come out of her bedroom, he’d been looking at the senior superlatives. Brienne had refused to allow the yearbook photographer to take her picture, so they’d used one taken at lacrosse practice, in which Brienne was sweaty and red-faced, and captioned it  _ Best Looking: Brienne “The Beauty” Tarth. _

Jaime had held up the invitation and said, “You should go.”

“Why would I do that?” Brienne had plucked the invitation from his hand and tossed it onto her desk. She’d had no interest in seeing any of her classmates again. Her fondest memory of high school was walking out of the building on the last day, knowing she was finally free of that place.

When Brienne had looked back at him, she’d found Jaime’s expression disarmingly earnest. “Because deep down you still think they’re right. Go to the reunion, see them, put them behind you for good,” he had urged.

Fighting Jaime was pointless; he had a way of wearing people down. Brienne had decided to treat the reunion as a weekend retreat, scheduling a massage and buying several books to read by the pool. Jaime didn’t need to know that she had no intention of attending the reunion dinner, nor the Sunday brunch and campus tour. Her plan would have worked if Jaime hadn't noticed the unmailed RSVP card still on her desk when he'd come back to her apartment the next weekend.

Rather than cajole Brienne until she gave in, as she’d half-expected, Jaime had offered to come with her. His only condition had been that they book a suite and make a real vacation of it. Brienne had balked at the cost, she never spent so frivolously, but Jaime had won her over. The suite was stunning, with two bedrooms and a view of the river, but the luxury accommodations didn’t make actually attending the reunion dinner any more appealing.

Brienne vaguely recognized the woman at the registration table. Chemistry? Valyrian literature? Brienne wasn’t sure and didn’t recognize the name on her badge. The woman wasn’t interested in reminiscing anyway. She was too busy batting her eyelashes at Jaime. That was nothing new. Over the past year, women all over the continent had ignored Brienne to throw themselves at her best friend. 

Brienne took her badge, but didn’t put it on. She was, after all, the only six-foot blonde woman in her class. She could hardly be mistaken for someone else. Besides, the badge featured her singularly unflattering senior portrait. Unfortunate haircut, acne, grudging smile, ill-fitting blouse picked out by her father’s girlfriend of the moment. Brienne had thought she’d thrown out every copy of that picture years ago. 

"Can you hold this?" she asked, passing Jaime the badge. He pocketed it without a word.

They made their way to the bar without encountering anyone Brienne wanted to talk to, ordered drinks, and found a table near the dance floor.

Brienne sipped her wine, watched the crowd slowly filling the room. She could see the teenagers they'd been easily enough, though a few people had changed dramatically. Her classmates still gathered in the same cliques, as if ten years had changed nothing. 

When people watching grew tiresome, Brienne turned her attention back to Jaime. He’d been a jock in high school, of that she had no doubt. If called upon in class, Jaime likely would have given a smartass answer even if he'd known the right one. He still did that occasionally in meetings, to her irritation. 

“What are you thinking?” Jaime asked, idly sweeping the confetti on the table into a little pile of shiny gold shapes.

“You and I wouldn’t have been friends in high school,” she confessed. 

Brienne had enough trouble understanding how they’d become such good friends now. Late nights at the office had evolved over the months to working dinners at one of their apartments, often followed by a movie or video games. Now they spent at least one evening together most weekends and rarely talked about work at all outside of the office. Brienne was hard-pressed to think of anyone beside her father to whom she was closer. 

Jaime grinned. “Are you doubting my ability to braid hair, gossip, and make friendship bracelets?” 

Brienne laughed. “So deep down you’re a twelve-year-old girl. I’ll keep that in mind. No, high school for girls is all fake niceness, backstabbing, and shunning anyone who is the slightest bit different.”

Jaime sipped his beer, scanned the room. “My school was all boys. We had enough issues without adding girls to the mix.”

Brienne considered reminding him that she’d been four years old when he’d graduated from high school, but teasing her only ally here seemed shortsighted. “Look, I’ll stay two hours, and then I am going upstairs to soak in that Jacuzzi tub. You promised.” She still thought the suite was an unnecessary extravagance, but Brienne was genuinely looking forward to stretching out in the huge tub which dominated the bathroom. 

“I have a history of breaking promises. You, on the other hand, keep your word. And you promised to try to enjoy yourself,” Jaime reminded her. “You hold up your end, I’ll hold up mine.” He leaned forward, drumming his fingers on the table. “So who was responsible for that lacrosse practice photo?”

Brienne stiffened. That damned photo.  _ Brienne the Beauty. _ She should have just ripped out the sports pages and disposed of the rest of her yearbooks long ago. “Probably Margaery Tyrell. She was the yearbook editor.”

Jaime frowned. “Why does that name sound familiar?” 

“She’s a news anchor.” ‘Most likely to succeed,’ indeed. With her brilliant smile, shiny brown curls, and deceptively sweet voice, Margaery had been a shoo-in to end up in front of the camera. Brienne knew firsthand what a convincing actress Margaery could be. 

Glancing around, Brienne spotted Margaery almost immediately. Her emerald-green dress was slinky and low-cut, too formal for the occasion. Her glossy hair was twisted up to emphasize the elegant line of her neck. “Margaery’s over there by the bar.”

“She doesn’t look evil, but they rarely do,” Jaime observed. “I’m going to grab us something to eat. Don’t hide in a corner while I’m gone, okay?” 

Brienne waited until he’d walked away before she pulled out her phone to check her work e-mail. Brienne had three e-mails from Pod, one from Jaime crowing that he knew she couldn't resist checking her messages, and one from Catelyn. Cat’s message begged her to have a good time and not worry about work. This was the first vacation Brienne had taken in two years. 

A braying laugh made Brienne look up. A husky guy in a plaid dress shirt and plain green tie stood across the table. The lights glinted off his ginger hair and beard. “Brienne Tarth. Wow. Never thought you’d have the balls to show up here.” 

Her stomach dropped. Of course he was here. “Ron,” she said icily, getting to her feet. In heels, Brienne was at least half a foot taller than Ronnet Connington. She preferred to look down on him.

He shook his head, an easy grin on his face. “Man, the guys have got to see this.” Ron chuckled, moving closer. “You even dressed up like a girl! Brienne the Beauty. I haven’t thought about you in years.”

Brienne shuddered. “Same. Trust me.” 

If she hadn’t already had misgivings about her short robin’s-egg blue dress, she would now. Jaime’s assistant had helped pick it out, and had insisted on pairing it with kitten heels. Brienne glanced toward the buffet tables, hoping to catch Jaime’s attention, but she didn’t see him.  _ Damn. _ What good was it having him here if he was just going to disappear?

“Oh come on, Bri. Don’t take it personally.” Ron looked her up and down, making her skin crawl. “So you’re here alone too.”

“I’m not alone,” she bristled. Time to walk away. 

Ron’s grin widened. “No? Where’s your Beast, Beauty?” 

Two plates thumped down on the table beside her, one meatball rolling off a plate onto the green tablecloth. “Right here.” 

Brienne risked a glance at Jaime, saw his green eyes narrowed in suspicion. She’d let him believe the yearbook was the worst she’d suffered in high school, but it hadn’t even been close. Ron and his friends had spent over a month pursuing Brienne. The football coach had finally called her into his office one day. She was distracting the team, he’d said. The players had made a bet about who could fuck her first. 

Both men were watching Brienne expectantly. Finally she muttered, “Jaime, this is Ronnet Connington. Ron, Jaime Lannister.”

Jaime took Ron’s offered hand and shook it hard as Ron’s eyes darted back and forth between Jaime and Brienne. “So, you’re Bri’s…”

“Date,” Jaime said, just as Brienne answered, “Friend.”

A thrill ran down her spine. Apparently a year wasn’t quite long enough to stamp out the faint hope that things might someday change between them. Of course Brienne was attracted to Jaime. Most women were. She’d given herself a week at the start of their friendship to rue her penchant for unobtainable men, then accepted the situation for what it was. Pretending they were dating would not make that easier. 

“How did you two meet?” Ron asked, as if he actually gave a damn. 

Brienne wanted to escape and never see Connington’s horrible, smirking face again. But then he would win. “It’s boring, really,” she said dismissively.

Ron wasn’t even listening. He waved to someone on the other side of the dance floor. “Hyle, Ed, get over here. Look who I found,” Ron crowed.

Brienne took a startled step back, stopped by Jaime’s hand pressing against the small of her back. 

Ron was obnoxious, but Brienne could handle him. She did not want to deal with Hyle and Ed too. Hyle Hunt looked exactly the same, brown hair and eyes, perfectly average and unassuming. Ed Ambrose, by contrast, had allowed his heavy linebacker’s muscles to go soft, a double chin unsuccessfully hidden beneath his close-cropped beard. 

Ron pointed at Brienne as if they couldn’t see her themselves. “Brienne’s plus one was about to tell me how they met,” Ron prompted.

Jaime popped a bacon-wrapped fig into his mouth and chewed slowly. That wasn’t a good sign. When Jaime had time to think, he tended to get creative. The more outlandish the lie, the more seriously he would try to sell it. “It’s a funny story, actually. I was on assignment in the Riverlands, out in the middle of the nowhere. And out of the blue, I heard a roar, then a woman’s scream.”

All Brienne could do was stare as Jaime gestured wildly, spinning a story about how he’d broken his arm while saving her from a huge brown bear. His request that she join his team had rescued her from transferring to the Bear Island project, nothing more. Months later, on their trip to the Riverlands Weapons Testing Range, a disgruntled soldier, annoyed with Jaime’s constant quips, had “accidentally” shot him with a prototype bean bag round, breaking his arm. 

Ron, Hyle, and Ed laughed in all the right places, clearly not believing a word Jaime said, but entertained nonetheless. Jaime could sell sand to the Dornish. He’d also angled himself just slightly between Brienne and her former tormentors. Jaime could be a mouthy ass, but he was fiercely protective of his friends and family. He had no way of knowing that these guys wouldn’t be distracted so easily.

When Jaime was done with his story, he winked at her. 

Rolling her eyes, Brienne added, “We work together at Crown Industries.”

“Brienne is a senior Research and Development manager. Defense division,” Jaime corrected. He sipped his drink. “And what do you do?” 

Jaime had told her more than once that most of these people would be little fish in big ponds now, no matter how popular or accomplished they’d been in high school. His twentieth reunion a few years ago had been the same way.

“I opened my dermatology practice last year,” Ed bragged. That explained the massive gold watch on his wrist. He was probably one of those guys who threw Botox parties for aging trophy wives. 

Ron’s broad grin returned. “I just made manager at Mockingbird.” 

Hyle barked a laugh. “Man, it’s a cell-phone store, not corporate.”

Ron’s eyes flashed. “At least I have a job.” His voice dripped with scorn.

Hyle’s gaze dropped. “Yeah, well, Tarly’s an ass,” he muttered.

Randyll Tarly  was  an ass. Brienne vividly remembered the man, red-faced with fury, berating his son Sam in the hallway after school one day. Sam had been two years behind her in school. Brienne hoped he’d gotten away from his father.

Tarly also owned the biggest car dealership in town. It didn’t surprise her that Hyle had worked in sales. He had a deceptively honest-looking face.

“You’ll have to forgive us, gentlemen, for cutting this short, but my lady promised me a dance,” Jaime said with just a hint of the patrician Lannister tone. He sounded unnervingly like his father had when Jaime had introduced Brienne to Tywin Lannister at a family wedding. If Jaime had intended to annoy his father by bringing her, he’d succeeded. 

Grateful for an excuse to get away, Brienne let Jaime lead her onto the dance floor. She was surprised when Jaime stopped among the slow-dancing couples and pulled her close to him. 

“Are we actually dancing? I thought that was just an excuse.” Brienne had most definitely not promised to dance this evening. The deejay was playing a trite ballad from her high school years, and she was nearly certain Jaime hated this band. 

Jaime shrugged, but made no move to leave the dance floor. “They won’t follow us out here.” 

The warmth of Jaime’s hands on her back and the woodsy scent of his cologne weren’t exactly calming Brienne’s nerves. When they went out to blow off steam with their coworkers, she never danced with Jaime for this very reason. 

“I hate dancing,” Brienne protested, reluctantly resting her hands on his shoulders. Their height difference was more obvious now, Jaime’s eyeline barely reaching her mouth. Just another reminder of how unfeminine she was, even when she really tried. 

Jaime chuckled as they swayed, turning her so that she couldn’t see the trio still lingering by their table. “And I loathe this song, yet here I am. The things I do for you, honestly. The least you can do is tell me why those idiots were so eager to talk to you.” 

“You know how it is,” Brienne said vaguely. “Football players and their conquests. They started calling me ‘Beauty’ when they figured out I wasn’t buying their ridiculous come-ons.” She tried in vain to keep some distance between them, but his hip kept bumping into her thigh. 

Brienne felt Jaime inhale deeply, knew he was going to ask her to elaborate, but she caught his eye, silently asking him to let her keep some dignity tonight. Jaime ought to understand sharing things when you were vulnerable that you normally wouldn’t. After the long night they’d spent together in a Riverlands emergency room waiting to see if his broken arm required surgery, Brienne knew things about Jaime that even his siblings didn’t. 

Jaime offered up a lopsided smile, and said in a stage whisper, “You know, I talked to that girl. Margaery. You should have seen her face when I told her I was here with you. She almost made an expression.” At Brienne’s questioning look, he added, “I think she’s been visiting good doctor Ed. Her face doesn’t move.” 

Brienne couldn’t help but laugh as he imitated Margaery’s rigid features. “You’re terrible,” she chided. 

Jaime turned the full power of his smile on her. He was hard to resist when he acted like this, and he knew it. “And you’re terribly honorable. What a pair we make.” 

 


	2. The Beast

Waiters scurried between tables, whisking away empty dinner plates. Jaime sat between Brienne and one of her former track teammates, everyone watching Margaery Tyrell onstage. Dinner had been much easier than the cocktail hour. Some of the track team had noticed Brienne and Jaime dancing, and dragged Brienne away to show her photos. 

Brienne was still shy, but more at ease with these people. Conversation moved easily from the recent Wall ultra-marathon and other races to their careers, their spouses and children. Jaime noticed that Brienne downplayed her success, simply noting that she worked in Research and Development. 

She obliged when they wanted to show her pictures of drooling babies and spaghetti-smeared toddlers, blushed and stuttered when they asked, with meaningful looks in Jaime’s direction, when Brienne planned on settling down and having kids. Jaime tried unsuccessfully to hide his amusement. He’d been dodging similar questions for more than a decade.

After a slightly dry chicken dinner and several glasses of wine, Brienne's shoulders had lost their stiffness. Her smile was still cautious but came more easily. While Jaime was able to contribute to the conversation, he was content to sit back and let Brienne talk. 

Pia had done well in helping Brienne shop for tonight. Jaime was sure Brienne usually just bought the first thing she picked out, no matter how ill-fitting or unflattering. Pia had vetoed several options before talking her into buying this dress. The color brought out Brienne’s eyes and the high hem showed off her legs. 

As waiters distributed slices of fudgy chocolate cake, Margaery took the mic. She announced in her perfectly enunciated newscaster voice that the first activity of the evening would begin shortly and each table should pick a team captain. 

"Oh, I bet it's a quiz," one of the women (Tina?) guessed. "It's Loras' signature. Orton and I hired him and Renly to plan our wedding. During the reception they had a quiz with all sorts of questions about us. It was a lot of fun for our guests."

"Renly?" The strain in Brienne’s voice caught Jaime's attention. 

He stretched his arm across the top of her chair, trying to make the gesture seem casual as his fingers brushed her bare shoulder. Jaime was surprised when Brienne leaned into his touch. He didn’t often let himself touch her, though lately he found the impulse harder and harder to resist. Tonight he couldn’t help but think that Brienne needed a physical reminder that she wasn’t alone here.

Tina—no, Taena—nodded eagerly. "He and Loras are wonderful. This’ll be fun."

Jaime waited until the others were occupied to ask Brienne who Renly and Loras were. "Margaery's brother and his partner," was all she said, but that obviously wasn't the whole story. 

The game itself was entertaining, but all the questions were about Brienne's classmates, so Jaime was no help. He fetched drinks from the bar, watched how seriously Brienne took the competition, how freely she laughed. His doubts about pushing her to come tonight finally disappeared. 

Jaime was watching her when a question came up that he could answer. “Who became the youngest project manager ever at Crown Industries at the age of 26?”

Brienne’s cheeks darkened, but she remained silent. Whoever had written these questions must have scoured the Internet for information. Brienne never would have bragged about her work. 

The group was tossing names around, guessing wildly. Jaime cleared his throat, waited until several of them looked at him. He tipped his head toward his friend. “That’s Brienne. She’s Associate Director of Strategic Research and Development.”

Unsurprisingly, none of the other tables answered correctly. The woman sitting on Jaime’s other side turned to him and asked, “So what do you two actually do?”

Jaime smiled apologetically. “That’s classified. I know, that sounds like bullshit, but it really is.”

His official title was Senior Manager of Logistics and Procurement. All that meant was that he sourced whatever (or whomever) Brienne needed to create prototypes and refine products. She might even outrank him. It was hard to tell with all the mergers. 

“You two seem  _ close_,” the woman observed, winking just in case he hadn't caught her meaning. 

Jaime shrugged and turned his attention back to Brienne. He’d been amused the first few times that evening when people had asked if he and Brienne were a couple. Jaime didn’t blame them for the question, just the barely disguised incredulity in their tones. They were all still so young. Many of them were still picking up one night stands in bars, evaluating every new acquaintance as a possible fling. 

On the far side of forty and never one for that mindset anyway, Jaime felt no need to explain the place Brienne occupied in his life. Colleague. Friend. Target of his relentless teasing. The best way to get under her skin, Jaime had learned within days of meeting her, was to flirt. It never failed to make Brienne shut down like a hedgehog curling up in a prickly little ball.

Now he knew why. Those shits standing by the bar, guzzling cheap ale and mocking their classmates. No wonder Brienne had never noticed when Jaime’s flirting had changed from teasing to genuine. Jaime bought her coffee nearly every day, spent many evenings with her, found increasingly flimsy excuses to touch her. Just tonight, he’d called himself Brienne’s date and slow danced with her. He felt like his interest might as well be tattooed on his forehead, it was so obvious. But Brienne never gave any indication she wanted more than friendship from him. 

Jaime left the table as the group celebrated successfully guessing that Ed Ambrose and Alyce Graceford had the most children (four next month), pulling them into a tie for first place with Margaery's table. He wondered if Margaery had gotten the questions ahead of time from her brother.

Jaime was washing his hands in the restroom when someone came in behind him. Jaime glanced up and found Ronnet Connington standing there.

"So the guys and I were wondering," Connington said casually. "How much did she pay you to come here tonight?"

"You think I’m an escort?" Jaime snapped, grabbing a paper towel to dry his hands. 

Connington laughed. "I know you are. Come on, man. You couldn't even remember the cover story she gave you."

Jaime was momentarily speechless. He couldn't recall the last time that had happened. He dropped the paper towel and turned to face Connington. "I am  _ not  _ an escort." 

“Sure you’re not,” Connington scoffed. He held up his hands. "No judgment. We've all got bills to pay. What'd you get for tonight? 500? A grand? I guess it depends if you have to fuck her."

Jaime grabbed the shorter man by the shirt and slammed him against the wall, pinning him easily with one arm. Connington was heavier, but out of shape and caught by surprise. 

"You and your douchebag friends are going to stay away from Brienne for the rest of the weekend. Don’t look at her, don’t talk to her."

His face as red as his beard, Connington spat, "With pleasure."

Jaime released him, stepped back and took a few deep, calming breaths. Brienne wouldn’t thank him for making a scene. 

Connington straightened his tie, pushing past Jaime to reach the door. "Fucking pathetic. Freak bitch should have stayed home," he muttered. 

Jaime yanked him back by his collar. Connington used that momentum to spin around, hands already fisted, but Jaime was quicker. Connington’s head snapped back as Jaime's fist slammed into his nose.  

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Connington screeched, hands pressed to his bloody nose.

Jaime's fist throbbed, but the look on Connington’s face was worth it. "Don’t you remember? I’m the Beast."

 

* * *

  
“It was good to see you again,” Brienne said, surprised to realize that it was true. 

“You too,” Renly answered, then headed back into the crowd.

Her heart was pounding, ten years of nervous energy released. Brienne had wondered over the years what it would be like to see him again. Much about Renly was unchanged. Intense blue eyes, broad shoulders, wry smile. She was the one who was different.

Across the room, Brienne caught sight of Jaime slipping back into the ballroom. His face was flushed, his tie slightly askew. He made a beeline for the bar. The bartender brought him a napkin filled with ice rather than a drink. Jaime had just set the impromptu ice pack on his hand when Brienne spotted Ron. Connington’s face was swollen, and a napkin held to his nose was stained red. 

Brienne pushed through the crowd to reach Jaime at the bar. “What happened?” she demanded, more sharply than she’d intended. All she’d wanted was to get through this evening without a lot of drama. 

Jaime shrugged. “I warned him. He should have stopped talking.”

Of course, everything was a damn joke to Jaime. “When are you going to grow up?” 

Brienne didn’t need him to defend her, certainly not from a guy she’d likely never see again. Jaime had gotten into enough trouble when he’d decked Ryman Frey in a bar one night. Brienne had barely been able to convince Frey not to call the police. 

Hurt shone in Jaime’s eyes. “I’m older than you, as you’re so fond of reminding me. You don’t have to like my methods, but I won't apologize for having your back.” 

How was she supposed to chastise him after that? Jaime looked like nothing so much as an overgrown child, caught fighting in the schoolyard. 

“I can’t take you anywhere,” Brienne chided, but there was no real rebuke in it. A small part of Brienne reveled in the idea that Jaime cared enough to punch Ron for her, but a bigger part wanted to get through the night without incident. 

Jaime’s sheepish expression changed, becoming intent and unfamiliar as he watched her. “You can take me anywhere you want. I just can’t promise to behave.”

That soft, low drawl was a recent addition to his arsenal. It made Brienne flush all over, turned her on more than most men she’d slept with. She looked down at Jaime’s hands, praying he wouldn’t notice the effect he had on her. That didn’t help. Brienne had always liked his hands. They featured in some of her more persistent fantasies.  

Brienne took a deep breath, pushed fantasy aside. Jaime was a flirt. He always had been, and she usually didn’t let him get to her. After seeing the boys from the bet and Renly, Brienne needed her friend, not another reminder of her romantic failings. 

“How’s your hand?” she asked brusquely. 

“Fine. So what do you want to do?” 

The ballroom was still filled with people, music blaring, couples dancing, but Brienne was done. This place and these people belonged to another Brienne, the girl who’d spent most of high school standing awkwardly on the sidelines. 

“Let’s get out of here.”


	3. The Suite

Jaime dropped his ice pack on the bar and offered Brienne his arm.  They made it as far as the elevator before she slipped off her heels, sighing with satisfaction when her bare feet flexed against the scratchy carpet. The shoes and body-skimming dress felt like a costume Brienne couldn’t wait to take off. 

She pulled out the bobby pins holding back her hair as she walked through the suite’s living room, and nearly unzipped her dress right there before Jaime dropped his jacket on one of the sleek, modern chairs, reminding her that he was there. 

Once safely in her room, Brienne traded the blue dress for boxer shorts and a concert T-shirt. 

When she came back into the living room, Jaime was sitting on the sofa, his navy tie tossed aside, dress shirt unbuttoned. How he made a plain white undershirt look so good, Brienne would never understand.

Jaime was taking off his shoes. He caught her looking at him, raised one eyebrow and smirked at her. He didn’t have to say a word, but she saw his amusement plainly enough. 

Brienne sat on the other end of the sofa, propping her sore feet on the coffee table. “You try wearing heels sometime.” 

Jaime leaned closer. “What makes you think I haven’t?”

There was the playful tease Brienne knew so well. She eyed his hand, which was beginning to bruise. “Haven’t thrown a punch in a while?”

Jaime flexed his hand, wincing. “No, not since Frey. And I wasn't a brawler in high school, by the way. Captain of three varsity sports, none of them boxing.” 

Brienne waited, expecting Jaime to tell her what Ron had said or done to deserve being pummeled.

Jaime leaned back against the sofa cushions, watched her. “Who was he?”

“Ron? I told you. Just a football player.”

Jaime shook his head. “You know who I mean. Mister Tall, Dark, and Handsome. Just before we left.”

The abrupt change of subject caught Brienne off guard. Jaime couldn’t have seen her talking to Renly for more than a few seconds. “Renly Baratheon. You know, one of the event planners.”

Jaime mulled that over a moment, then he nodded. “Right. You flinched when his name came up earlier.”

Damn him, he noticed everything. “I just wasn’t expecting to see him. He was two years ahead of me.”

Jaime leaned toward her, eyes narrowed. “You’re a terrible liar.” 

“I am not,” Brienne insisted, looking away. That was a lie too. Omission she could handle, bending the truth occasionally, but when outright lies were called for, she could barely get the words out.

“Then look at me,” Jaime chided.

Brienne sighed, met his gaze. Was it normal that they knew each other so well? That her first instinct was always to call Jaime when she needed to talk to someone? She had no frame of reference for a friendship like theirs. 

A sharp little wrinkle had formed between Jaime’s eyebrows, the corners of his mouth drawn down slightly, his eyes focused on her. He looked like he suspected there might be someone else he needed to punch tonight. 

Brienne raked a hand through her short hair. A pin she’d missed popped out and hit the floor. “I had a crush on him. No big deal. It was a long time ago.” 

Those feelings had seemed so silly once Brienne stood in front of Renly again. Obviously nothing would have ever happened between them back then, but at the time she’d been so embarrassed and hurt. It hadn’t occurred to her that she could have looked like a supermodel, and Renly still wouldn’t have been interested.

Jaime didn’t seem to believe that was the whole story. “Was he cruel to you? Back then, I mean.” 

Brienne shook her head. “No, he was perfectly nice to me. One of the few who was.” 

Renly had been nice to everyone back then, desperate for people to like him. He hadn’t come out yet, but some people had known. Margaery had known, and had encouraged Brienne’s crush anyway. If Renly hadn’t been so nice, maybe Brienne would have gotten over her crush before he’d come out almost a year later.

Jaime relaxed slightly, leaning back and stretching his arm along the top of the sofa. “What did you talk about?” 

Brienne suppressed a yawn. It had been a very long day, beginning with Jaime banging on her door at 6:30 so they could share a cab to the airport. At least he’d brought coffee. Maybe her exhaustion was making her conversation with Renly seem so absurd.

“Nothing, really. He didn’t remember me,” she admitted.

Jaime’s eyes widened. “Seriously?” 

Brienne nodded. “I know, right? I thought I was madly in love with the guy for a whole year, and he couldn’t even remember my name.” It had taken every ounce of her courage to approach him. Renly had remembered that she’d been on the track team, but no more than that. 

Jaime groaned. “I am so sorry I pushed you to come here. Those assholes earlier, this Renly idiot…. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m glad I came.” 

Brienne honestly was. These people really didn’t matter anymore. They were part of a painful time in her life, but that time was long over. Brienne had a good job, a cozy little apartment, people who cared about her. That was more than enough. 

“Really?” Jaime’s skeptical eyebrow was back. “Did you go slash their tires when I wasn’t looking?”

“No, of course not. But now I know that I haven’t been exaggerating what jackasses those guys were all these years.” Jaime nodded emphatically at that. “And I can stop beating myself up for getting so wrapped up in the image I had of Renly that I didn’t notice who he really was. I was just a kid.”

“He isn’t bad looking, if dark hair and blue eyes are your type,” Jaime conceded, shifting on the couch so that his calf bumped against hers and stayed there.

He put a funny emphasis on  _ if. _ Brienne wasn’t sure what to make of that. Was Jaime asking what her type was now? She couldn’t just say  _ my type is you. _ It was one thing to get a polite brush-off from a gay guy, it would be another to hear it from her best friend. “Renly laughed at his own jokes. Never would have worked out,” she said lightly. 

Whatever Renly had been like in high school, he’d seemed frivolous and self-involved in the few minutes they’d spoken tonight. He’d asked Brienne briefly about her work, if she had a family, but she’d had the distinct impression that he wasn’t listening to the answers. 

Jaime was far more dangerous than Renly had ever been. Jaime never pretended to like someone, never feigned interest when a topic bored him. He could be impulsive and rude, but he’d come along this weekend just to be there for her.

Brienne stood. She needed to get away from Jaime for a while. “Mind if I take advantage of that Jacuzzi tub now? My feet are killing me.” 

Jaime nodded. “Go ahead. I’ll be right here, bemoaning that hotels never have any decent cable channels.”

She heard the TV turn on as she closed the door. 

Once the massive tub filled, Brienne settled into the water, luxuriating in being able to stretch out. She played with all the settings, eventually lying back with her eyes closed, hot water swirling around her, fragrant bubbles skating across the surface.

A bolder woman would have invited Jaime to join her instead of fleeing from him. She’d thought about him often enough. A harmless fantasy when Brienne was alone in her apartment. Not so harmless when Jaime was on the other side of the door. 

She could call to him, even now, or get up, wrap her wet body in a towel, and go to the door. Brienne couldn’t imagine being the kind of woman who did either. A series of bad dates and unmemorable sexual encounters had taught Brienne to be cautious and soured her on dating. 

Since she’d started working with Jaime, she’d gone on a single date. Somehow an evening of awkward small talk sounded less appealing when her other option was spending time with Jaime. He didn’t talk about it, but Jaime didn’t seem to date much either. He seemed to always be at her apartment, or Brienne was at his. 

Things would have to change when they returned home. How could she find someone if she spent so much time with Jaime? There might be someone out there for her, someone who would truly share her life, not just her office and her couch. Her classmates and their endless photos of weddings and babies had shown Brienne that much, even if that wasn’t necessarily her idea of a happy ending.

Twenty minutes later, Brienne padded out of the bathroom, surprised to find the television still on.

Jaime lay on the sofa, eyes closed, his right hand resting on his stomach. Jaime’s knuckles were indeed bruised. Ron’s head must have been as hard as it looked. While she'd been in the tub, he'd changed into sweatpants and a T-shirt. On the TV, two big men in loud suits argued about football. 

Brienne couldn’t leave him on the sofa all night. She gently shook his foot. “Jaime, wake up.”

He flopped onto his side, but didn’t wake. 

She sighed, sat beside him and shook his shoulder. “Come on, champ. Let's get you in bed."

Jaime yawned, asked sleepily, "Are you joining me?" 

“Don’t, Jaime. Not tonight.” Did he know what she’d been thinking about? Why would he tease her about this now? 

The sofa creaked as Jaime sat up. The playfulness, the teasing she expected to find in his gaze were wholly absent. He just looked tired. “Why not?”

“It’s  _ not  _ funny.” 

Brienne stood, needing space between them. Whatever he was playing at, Jaime was only firming her resolve to make changes when they went home.

Jaime stretched, grumbled, “I’m not joking.”

“No?” Brienne held out her hand, and Jaime took it with his left. “Then let’s go.”

His brow furrowed in confusion, so Brienne tugged him up from the couch, dragging him three steps toward his room. 

“What are you doing?” Jaime sounded so incredulous she almost stopped, but if she was serious about moving on, she might as well start now. Time to call his bluff. 

“Taking you to bed. That’s what you wanted, right?” There was more acid than honey in her voice. Good thing she wasn’t actually trying to seduce him. Brienne had never mastered using her voice as an enticement the way he had.

Jaime rubbed his tired eyes with his right hand and winced. “This isn’t—I didn’t mean—”

She dropped his hand and turned her back on him. “I know you didn’t. Goodnight, Jaime.”

Her room was perhaps ten steps away. Brienne might make it before she lost her composure. One step. They could go home in the morning, forget all of this. Two. They’d be working on new projects soon, she could ask to be assigned to a different team if seeing him every day proved too difficult.

“Wait. Please.” 

Brienne tried to ignore the plea in his voice. “Forget it.” She could feel his presence at her back, refused to look at him.

“Brienne.” Jaime’s voice was soft, intimate as a touch, and she bit her lip hard to stop herself from turning around, doing something stupid. “Can we start over?”

“Bit late for that.” She looked longingly at her room. Eight steps and she would have been safe.

He sighed, released her arm. “Can we rewind, then?”

Warning bells went off in her head, but Brienne turned to face him. “To when?” Short of going back to the day they’d met, what could he really change?

Jaime was right there, too close. He offered her an encouraging smile. “I can’t take you anywhere,” he prompted.

With rather more irritation than earlier, Brienne echoed, “I can’t take you anywhere.” Where was he going with this?

His smile faded. One hand settled at Brienne’s waist, keeping her from backing away. Jaime was utterly serious, green eyes locked on hers as he said, “You can take me  _ anywhere  _ you want.”

Heat bloomed in her face and her stomach. He wasn’t playing fair. “Jaime.” 

Warning, plea, question, she wasn’t sure what she wanted to say, but Brienne got no further than his name before Jaime kissed her. Slow and sweet, with the slightest suggestion of teeth grazing her lower lip. 

Jaime pulled back, his expression a mix of expectant and smug.

Brienne could barely think. If not for the solid pressure of his hand on her waist as an anchor, she would swear she’d fallen asleep in that bath. She scrambled for something to say other than  _again._

The last year played out in Brienne’s mind, moments fitting together in new patterns. The nights Jaime had worked late just to help her, mornings he’d brought her breakfast from her favorite bakery. The music festival where he clearly hadn’t known the bands yet had kept her company all weekend, even in the pouring rain. Evenings exploring the city together, ending up on her couch or his, talking late into the night. 

Time to move forward. That’s what she’d decided when being with Jaime hadn’t been an option. Where would Brienne take this if she had the choice?

“Anywhere?”

Jaime’s lopsided grin was charming, sweet, but his eyes had grown dark. “Anywhere,” he confirmed, imbuing that word with a thousand delicious possibilities. 

Brienne tapped her lips with one finger, still uncertain but also unwilling to keep him waiting too long. “Here?” 

Jaime drew her face down to his for a longer, deeper kiss. Brienne felt hot all over by the time he placed one last kiss on her upper lip.

“I’ve wanted to do that for months,” Jaime whispered, his voice husky in a way she’d never heard before. He was so close, his chest brushed against her breasts with every breath.

Brienne had wanted it too, wanted more every time she’d said goodnight and closed the door behind him. With Jaime’s body pressed against hers, she wanted everything he could give her. But Brienne had no interest in throwing away their friendship for a fling, no matter how hot that fling might ( _would_ ) be.  

“When we get back, maybe we could go out sometime.” 

Jaime dipped his head to nuzzle her neck. “Dinner?” he asked. “Maybe a movie?” 

“Yes.” Brienne cursed how breathless she sounded, but she was having trouble concentrating while he kissed his way down her throat.

Jaime chuckled, his breath on her skin making her shiver. “Like we’ve been doing every weekend for months?”

“That doesn’t count,” she protested.

“Why not?” Jaime pulled back and regarded her curiously. 

“You can’t just decide those were dates. That’s not how it works.” Brienne couldn’t disguise the incredulity in her voice. 

Jaime cocked his head to the side, watching her. He backed off. “You think I just want to get laid tonight.”

Brienne looked away, her face burning. The idea had occurred to her. Pity was also a possibility. On the TV, the men in suits had been replaced by a tennis match.  

“Brienne.” That soft, enticing tone pulled her gaze back to him. “I would take you to bed right now if you asked. I would kiss every freckle, every inch of you.” Jaime started to reach for her, stopped himself. “But we don’t need to rush.”

Brienne released a shaky breath, ashamed at feeling slightly disappointed. Her traitorous mind was too eager to conjure up the scenario Jaime had described, made all the more vivid by recent experience. 

“Every inch?” 

“I may have thought about it. Once or twice." Jaime bit his lower lip, a gesture she’d always found both endearing and tempting.

Brienne couldn’t rewrite history, pretend that they’d been dating for months. She didn’t need to. Brienne knew Jaime, the good and the bad, better than she’d known any man she’d dated. He could be patient when he had to be, when he wanted to be.

Jaime watched her intently. He’d pushed Brienne all the way here from King’s Landing, but he wasn’t pushing now. Jaime would wait for her. 

"It's getting late. I should go to bed," he said uncertainly.  

Brienne glanced toward her dark bedroom. She could be patient too, take this slow. They could go out when they returned to King’s Landing. Or tomorrow night. Their flight didn’t leave until Sunday morning. 

Brienne let herself look at Jaime and really see him. She couldn’t remember anyone ever looking at her the way Jaime did right then. It made Brienne impatient. 

She closed the gap between them, kissed him again, let her hands roam his back, his arms. Jaime's hand slipped under her shirt, and the kiss started to turn into something more.

Brienne reluctantly broke away. She knew what she wanted. 

“We should go to bed.” It wasn't much, but it was the most brazen invitation Brienne could manage. 

Jaime looked confused for a moment, then a cocky grin spread across his face. He kissed her again, as if he couldn’t go too long without kissing her anymore. 

When Brienne took those last eight steps to her bedroom, Jaime followed. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Miss_M for reading pieces of this at least six or seven times over the last four months.


End file.
